


In The Place to Be

by haloburns



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Fluff, I hope, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, breakdance au, cuteness, first attempt, no sadness, tags added as neededd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5850220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloburns/pseuds/haloburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not saying my boyfriend is a street dancer who dances about social issues but... If the shoe fits, John."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In New York, You Can Be A New Man

**The train** rocked back and forth while Alex leaned against a pole, his arm wrapped securely around the pole, a book locking him into place. The music thudding in his ears pushed him past the reality of the train, even as it slowed to a halt and people moved on and off. The train slowed to a halt again and Alex looked up to see when his stop was. That's when _he_ got on the train.

Alex shouldn’t have been able to notice him, he showed up in a flood of people typical for this part of town. But in all the dejected faces, his seemed different. He was covered in freckles with dreads tied behind his head and a few curls loose around his forehead. Baggy sweatpants hung off his body, riding low on his hips with a loose. A threadbare jacket covered a faded green shirt, and in the jacket pocket, there was a phone with a taped together headphones plugged in. After a brief look at the guy, Alex knew he was from the streets.

Book forgotten in his hands, Alex continued to stare at the kid sitting right beside him, unaware of his surrounds, chunky headphones obliterating everything except what he wanted to hear. Alex wasn’t paying attention, trying to count this man’s freckles while he wasn’t paying attention. Naturally, he failed to notice when that man’s startling hazel eyes were looking back at him.

“Sorry, lost in thought,” he said. In response, the man just smiled and Alex felt the breath leave his body as the train beeped, signaling the doors were closing.

That didn’t stop a large black man from sticking his hand into the door, forcing himself onto the train. He moved towards the door connecting the cars, making a move for something inside his jacket. Alex could feel himself gearing up to do something, even though what could he do against a-- _mask_?

Drumsticks appeared from a hidden pocket and the moment they hit the train wall, another mask appeared and they started to dance to music coming from an unknown location. As the music progressed, more people, people who seemed innocent and not at all like dancers, joined the fray.

Of course, not everyone on the subway enjoyed their in-the-face style, and soon security was heading towards them. The door between cars got jammed, and the crew was able to bolt at the next stop. Alex pushed his way onto the platform in time to see a tall black man in a business suit, hair around his face point the officers towards the running dancers. The dancers were messing with the security officers as they leisurely made their way from the platform out to the real world. The masks hid the laughing smirks Alex knew they had, but eventually, they all bolted, masked faces disappearing. Laughter echoed through the station.

Alex watched as the group disappeared and people returned to their business, as if unphased by the beauty they had just been privy to. Off to the side, the businessman made his way up the escalator, his face an unreadable mask. If Alex had been anyone else, he might have missed it, but as he was Alex, he caught sight of a splash of silver on the businessman’s hand. Confused, he spun in his spot, trying to find the source of the paint that the businessman would have come into contact with.

The side of a stairwell read: Tomorrow's Revolutionaries. The blue words were surrounded by thirteen silver stars, the words rough and loud like their dance style. Something about the whole thing excited Alex. He wanted to know more about these people. These dancers.  _ That boy _ .

He turned around, the dancers having disappeared while he was briefly distracted.  _ That was the plan _ . He was slightly crushed he'd lost sight of the group, but now he had a name.  _ Tomorrow's Revolutionaries _ . Now he had a place to start. Exploring the city forgotten, Alex raced home to his small flat, his fingers itching for research, to know about this group that hijacked his morning.


	2. That Would Be Enough

**John ran** with Hercules and Angelica, the three of them laughing. They threw the masks into a dumpster as they made their way down an alley; they couldn't be recognized.

The city passed in its usual blur of gray and brown until they finally stopped at a familiar building. The trio climbed to the top of the building before relaxing onto the edges of the roof.

"That was sick, man!" Angelica said, throwing her head back and laughing. Hercules agreed, sitting back on the ground, a small smile on his face. John agreed and the three talked as the sun drifted towards the far horizon. It was then Lafayette showed up, still in his business suit.

" _Bonjour_ , everyone!" he said, grinning as he put his hair back up into a ponytail.

"Did they follow you?" John asked as he got up to hug his friend.

" _Non_ , we're  _bon_ ,  _mes amis_." They all relaxed a little.

"So what kind of coverage did we get?"

"News stories, mostly. Some videos, including ours. But our name's out, for sure." They all shared a grin before getting serious.

"It's time to start planning, then. We gotta make a statement."

" _Bien sûr_." The group got up and started making its way downstairs and out. Angelica threw out ideas and Hercules started planning their outfits for whatever they chose. John threw out themes and Lafayette just shrugged and said anything would be fun, but it needed to be a _statement_ , not just a statement. John and Angelica argued about what exactly to do. She wanted to focus on a feminist issue, and while John agreed that needed to happen, they needed something more shocking to gain more attention before they started saying things. It devolved from there into companionable silence. John thought about where they are and looked at where they started. It was enough for John.

* * *

 Hercules and Lafayette had joined the Red Coats when they were younger, needing an outlet. The Red Coats were the dominant force on the block so it seemed logical to go with them. The dancing was cool, but Herc and Laf never really got to be the spotlight, though they could easily outshine anyone on that crew. Slowly, more and more people agreed with Herc and Laf that everyone should get a turn at dancing lead. It was when Washington had suggested they split the crew up. Make it into a “rivalry” and gain cred that they formed a crew.

That's when they found John.

His dad had kicked him out and cut him off. He didn’t need an “illegitimate black Latino gay son” ruining his political image; so he was homeless and just barely eating every day. It had been four months and he was thinking about what to do next with his pitiful life.

Then he'd found a place for himself, a little alcove in an alley that became his “home.” He lived there for about two weeks when he heard noises coming from the opening. Scared, John shrank back into the far corner, hoping these people would leave quickly. He stayed hidden when the three black boys came deeper into the alley, but was startled when they started dancing. It was an angry dance that resonated with John more than anything else so far had. It pulled him out of his hiding spot, surprising the tallest one. The three men turned to face John. None of them moved an inch towards or away from John. John was frozen by fear, of what they might do to him. The crew was frozen by insecurity, of what he was going to do, of why he was here, and of what they should do.

"Have you been there the whole time?" the tall one asked, his voice warm and caring. It sounded like brown sugar. Washington, he would later learn.

"Yes," came John's response. He'd meant for it to be strong and defiant, but it came out feeble, weak like him. _Like he always had been_ , a voice sounding suspiciously like Henry Laurens hissed. His head shook the thought away because he knew the truth--he'd been too long without a regular food source. As if he could sense why John was there, the one who'd spoken moved forward, hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Kid, when was the last time you ate properly? Or slept in a bed?" John mumbled an incoherent response, his eyes starting to drift close. Feet shuffled and John felt himself stumble. He snapped his eyes back open and the older one was closer now, worry lines etched into his kind face.

"Washington, the kid's gonna fall over any second now," the broad man to the left said. He sounded worried too. Anger and indignation burned through John. He could take care of himself, he didn't need the help of these strangers. Didn’t need any help, from anyone.

"Yeah, I noticed that, Hercules." Warm hands surrounded his forearms before he could voice as much. He scowled before leaning into the arm that was being wrapped around his shoulders. "Kid, we're gonna get you some food and a place to stay. You're not leaving until we now you're gonna be okay." He felt himself being lead out of the alley when he remembered:

"My stuff!" John lurched his way back to his alcove, grabbing a dirty and dusty duffle bag, the one with all his books and a picture of when he was a kid and a phone that would never work again and a sketchbook with a few pencils and a knife to sharpen. No eraser, so the book had nothing in it. Besides, he wasn't really inspired to draw anyway.

He stumbled back to the trio and he knew, in the very back of his mind, he probably should be careful since these people are strangers, but they would have already jumped him if it was their intention. He couldn't fight back, not like he used to be able to. _Take the beating like you’re supposed to: silently and without movement._ At least he would when it came.

The older man, who he'd heard answer to Washington, wrapped his arm around John’s shoulders again. Subconsciously, he flinched away from the arm. Washington noticed and shifted, placing John’s arm over Washington’s shoulder instead.

"Why are you helping me?" he mumbles, barely able to keep himself awake.

"Because we were just like you when we were younger," Washington said. The other two agreed quietly.

"We were on the streets once. Then we joined the Red Coats. Shit went down after a while, and then we split and became our own crew,” the one with the funny accent said, his face carefully blank.

“We've been trying to make a difference, but G is the only one who can get a job. No one wants to hire an eighteen-year-old boy from the hood. Not even in the hood. We don't have family here anymore to help," ‘Herc’ said, shaking his head ruefully.

"They don't want to hire a genderfluid black Frenchman, either." John was startled by the breezy way they mentioned it. He was even more startled by the easy acceptance of the others. He was from South Carolina. Being gay meant you got cut off and kicked out. It got you homeless in New York.

* * *

_It got you new friends._

John was snapped to the present by his friends' laughter. He smiled, shaking off the dark mood and rejoined the fun. Laf gave him a knowing look but John shook off the confrontation. He knew Laf wouldn't forget. They never did. But for now, he wanted to enjoy the company of his friends and plan their next misdemeanor.

Slowly, an idea crept into his mind, stemming from years of experience and hatred.

"We'll never be truly free, until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me," John said. Angelica agreed, saying there were ways to play with that idea. It could be played so many ways, but their skin colour made one much more powerful over all the others. The obvious power one had over the other.

"I dream of life without racism. But who knows when that will happen?" Laf’s grin was a little darker than usual. But this was just the beginning.

"Tomorrow, there'll be more of us..." John whispered to himself. And then they'd tell the story of tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so thanks to all the people who have so quickly read my story! Thanks to writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle for motivating me and making me feel good about my writing.
> 
> Hopefully i keep sadness out of this fic and keep it light hearted with the only sad bits reality like gentrification and racism and bad backstories like John's.
> 
> Also, any typos are due to my doing all this on my phone.


	3. I'm Lying in Wait

**After** **Alex's** internet search turned up a few recent grainy videos and one small article, he took to the streets around his flat. The locals had to know something about this group, Tomorrow's Revolutionaries. _Someone_ had to know _something_. He spent hours asking and asking and asking. There seemed to be no information on them, but they said as much with slight fear in their eyes. But Alex understood; if someone had come to Nevis asking for him, his neighbors would have clammed up and said no one by that name lived there.

Frustrated with his lack of results, he made his way to the bodega on the corner to pick up a candy bar, to sate the hunger he knew would be coming after hours of walking. There, he saw a young woman who was dancing the music playing over the speaker. The moves looked familiar, but thinking he'd spent too much time watching TR’s videos, he shrugged it off and went looking for his candy.

Once he’d wandered down the aisles a few times, he made his way back to the register. He set the candy on the counter with a drink before digging out the change from his wallet to pay for it. The girl eyed him, her dark, curly hair falling over her shoulder as she moved towards the register from where she was dancing.

"You ready?" she said, her voice strong and bold like her neon yellow shirt.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," Alex shrugged. He watched her face as she rung up the candy and told him the total.

"Hey, wait, I saw you on the train a few days ago." Realization dawned on him.

“Good for you, you saw someone on the train. Now are you going to pay?”

"You were a dancer." Confusion crossed her face and Alex frowned.

"Nope, that wasn't me, I'm sorry. You're talking about those kids that hijacked the subway?"  _And my life_ , Alex added silently.

"Yeah, and I swear you were there. You were wearing faded jeans and a plain button up shirt and you were holding a blanket that looked like a baby. Then you threw it down when you started dancing. You were amazing. I wanted to—" Alex wanted to keep going but the girl’s expression turned to one of frustration.

“You’ve got the wrong person, kid. I’m just a lowly bodega worker. Now hurry up before Sofia gets back and kicks my ass.”

“You were there! You were dancing just now like you did today on the train. I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything, I just want to—“ Finally she cut him off, groaning in exasperation.

"Hush up, will you?! Man, nobody is supposed to know us. How did you find me?"

"I didn't mean to. Well, I was looking for you, but I just gave up. I came to get something to eat for tonight. I've never really been a fan of dancing, but that was simply amazing it. It made me feel like I do when I write. And—" For once, Alex hadn't thought this far ahead. He knew he wanted to find Tomorrow's Revolutionaries, but he wanted to find that boy with the freckles. But he hadn't planned out what to say; he just wanted to see him.

"Well, that's great, kid. Just keep it on the DL. What we do is technically illegal." Immediately, Alex ran through all his legal knowledge, words quickly jumbling in his brain.

"Then why do it? Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?” Even though Alex knew that the law never stopped him, he didn’t want them to get in trouble for simply dancing

"Ever think the illegality of it is the fun part?" He paused; he liked this group even more.

"No," he answered simply before changing the subject. "When is your next performance?"

"No clue. You'll know when you see it. Now my shift is over, so see you around, peach fuzz." She smirked, flouncing out of the corner store as a woman took her place. Alex followed, confused. Why was this group clouded in such mystery and why did Alex love it so much?

* * *

Life was forced to return to normal after his encounter with the bodega girl which severely disappointed Alex. Though, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Life fucks him a lot. This just happened to be another one night stand. He mourned the loss of potential friends, yet words continued to spill from him as he wrote about anything and everything. Days passed by him with little sleep and little food.

Eventually he made his way outside for coffee and food, hoping a change of scenery would make it easier to write. He'd hit writer’s block and couldn't seem to get past it. He made his way to the coffee shop that was way out of his way (read: his budget) to hopefully shake loose some ideas. Those essays weren’t going to make money themselves.

Alex walked inside the half full cafe, standing in a short line. While he waited, he glanced around for an open table. He spotted a large one in the back taken up by a guy with headphones in his ears, his dreadlocked head bent over pencils and papers scattered all around him. Alex smiled slightly, knowing that position exactly. He’d just spent a week in it. It was one of intense concentration.

The girl at the counter cleared her throat and Alex turned around; the line had cleared. He moved forward to the register, looking back up at the menu, deciding what he wanted to eat. While he briefly paused to decide, he was greeted with a soft "Alo" and then a request for his drink. He heard an accent just like his and he beamed. He responded in Creole, causing the girl behind the counter to smile as well. This in turn caused a loud exasperated sigh to Alex’s left.

"Can you _believe_ this? They can't even speak English long enough to order a damn coffee. Don't they know we speak _English_ in _America_?" Alex could feel his shoulders tensing, words appearing in his mind as he whipped around to face a tall black man.

"Excuse me, did you have something to say to me?" Alex's tone was clipped, his English crisp. Perfect.

"Yeah, actually. Why can't you speak _English_ in America?"

"Where is it required that I speak English?" Instead of intense anger behind his words, Alex’s tone is light and quiet, as if curious to the answer.

"You're in _America_ , that in and of itself requires _English_!" _Maybe “America” and “English” are the only two words he knows_ , Alex thought sardonically.

"Show me where it says that I am no longer allowed to speak Creole to someone who themselves is Creole." Polite. All that Alex needed to hand this man his ass. (He would ignore the small voice in his head saying that all he had to do was punch the man.)

"THIS. IS.  _AMERICA_. WE SPEAK _ENGLISH_ IN _AMERICA_!" His argument quickly bored Alex.  _Definitely the only two words he knows_. Alex thought the man might be wittier, considering how he looked. But he knows what they say about those who assume.

"No, we don't. We have no official language in this country because almost no one who settled America spoke English. Your ancestors didn't, the Germans and Italians and Russians and Chinese and Japanese sure didn't. Most of us are required to conform and learn to speak English because no one wants to learn every single language spoken in the US. I will speak whatever language I wish, whenever and with whomever I choose. A rich, Southern, pretentious daddy's boy is sure as hell not going to tell me what to do. You can barely articulate your point, having no other argument than "This is America, we speak English", so you need to put your foot back in your mouth. Which would be an amazing feat since your head is so far up your ass." Alex smirked, feeling proud of himself when the Southerner stuttered, at a loss for words. The shorter man who'd been standing behind the Southerner pulled him away, probably to save him from further embarrassment. People around him clapped and Alex felt himself flush. He returned to his order (and heavily tipping the girl for wasting her time). When he started to move away from the counter, someone gently touched his shoulder, a silent question for his attention.

"Hey, I happened to catch the tail end of your argument, and I wanted to apologize for Jefferson. We're not friends, but we run in the same crew together. He's...different, to put it nicely." The guy’s voice sounded like heaven. Alex struggled to keep his eyelids from drooping in pleasure when he turned to look at this person.

 _It was him_. The boy with freckles from the train.

"Oh," was all he could respond. Life fucked him often, he knew that much, but this was completely new. Immediately Alex pushed down the hope welling in his chest and steeled himself for the other shoe to drop. Gentle hazel eyes looked down at him, confused by his lack of response. He probably thought Alex was just a dick. _Great. That’s totally how you pick up guys, Alex, by being a dick. They want **the** dick, not for you to **be** a dick._

"Shit, sorry. I just-- I was surprised is all. I'm Alexander Hamilton. Alex.”

"I'm John Laurens."

"It's nice to meet you, John.” Without paying attention, Alex added a smirk on the end. His usual pick up.

“Actually, I think I’ve seen you before,” John said, his forehead crinkling (adorably).

“Maybe in passing? New York is a big city after all.”

“Maybe…” He started to chew his lip and Alex almost fainted. _The attraction is strong in this one, young padawan_ , Alex thought. He refused to giggle at his own thoughts.

“Wait!” John snapped his fingers and Alex out of his head. “You were on the train reading the book about urban gentrification and the economic consequences.”

“Yeah… How the hell did you remember?”

“I’m a little personally invested in family owned business.

“I know what you mean. This bodega down the street from my place is pretty sweet. I’d hate to lose it, and not just because I’d lose my closet sugar fix. I’d lose the only girl who’s connected to your dance crew." Alex had to refrain from saying “unless you got connected to me.”

"You met Peggy?" John’s tone was confused, as if his brain were stuttering.

"Yeah, about a week ago and she-"

"They." Alex paused, thinking back. They’d never mentioned name ( _or pronouns_ ). He shrugged internally. If that’s what they prefer, then that’s what Alex will call them.

"They're nonbinary?" _Best to double check_.

"Yup." He could see the other man starting to tense up, ready to fight Alex if he was going to be an asshole. _As if_.

"Oh, okay, cool. They told me to just hush up and then be patient and wait for the next performance. But why wait for something so amazing?" Alex made a point of making eye contact, an eyebrow raised suggestively. John looked away, causing physical pain in Alex’s chest. Who was he kidding? This was obviously a straight guy and he wouldn't like his overt come-ons. Why would he? Before he could apologize for his unwarranted advances, the other guy spoke up.

“You won’t have to wait long.” And to this day, he swears John’s voice was a pitch lower. Clearing his throat to continue, John looked Alex dead in the eye. What Alex wouldn’t give to uncover every secret in the hazel depths.  _I have to leave before I do something stupid_.

“I want to stay and talk, but I have to get back to writing. I guess I'll see you around?" To finish his flirtations, in a less than graceful act, Alex grabbed his coffee and hurried out the door. On the street, he stood there, his ears hot and he felt embarrassed and upset. 

But he comforted himself with the fact that ( _unfortunately_ ) he would never see him again, that this was all a bad dream and he would wake up in his one-room apartment and the boy with the freckles would **not** be haunting his memory.

He'd just have to wait for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* it's peggy. and im probably gonna go with nonb peggy, since that's hella cool. alex just doesnt know that yet.
> 
> 2-9-16: going back and fixing this because chapter four went a different way than i intended so now i have to fix this. keeping nonb peggy, just adding more


	4. Rewind, Rewind

**The next** few days passed quickly. Washington worked on choreography with Lafayette as his sideman. Hercules worked on intricate, original costumes (none of that coordinated clothing bullshit, they dressed for their message) with Peggy while Eliza worked on a critical part: music. John floated between everyone's work, searching for ideas, before finally settling into the most important part: their message. He knew what it was they  _wanted_ to say. The hard part was getting from point A to point B, so he sat at his desk, wads of paper scattered around with half drawn ideas. Ink and paint stained his fingers, and his forehead, where he was currently rubbing it in frustration. 

With an angry shout, he shoved back from the large table in the Warehouse. He _needed_ to get out before this artist’s block drove him mad.

With a shout he was going out, John left the warehouse, portfolio in hand. He made his way back to the metro, settling down into a seat. He wanted to get out of the slums for a little bit. The art didn't want to flow like it usually did. The things that should be his inspiration were stunting it. Right now, it was depressing and he  _hated_ it. Before he could stop them, dark thoughts started to prey on his mind. He hated that his father kicked him out, that his family had disowned him, that he had to live on his own.

 _Except you're not alone._  He had Washington and Lafayette and Hercules and the Schuyler siblings. They were his friends, and he loved them with all his heart. They accepted him for who he was. That meant the world to John, but he felt like he was still missing something.

So he decided to fill that void with coffee and sweets. He made his way up to the rich coffee place uptown, spending the little cash he had. A large table in the back was open, so he snagged it, spreading out his papers, setting his colours open beside it. The shop was busy and bustling, so he put on his headphones, making sure his dreads were out of the way to avoid the disaster that is paint.

A movement caught his eye about an hour into his painting. All sound was blocked by his headphones, but there was movement that indicated a commotion. John immediately regretted removing his headphones when he heard a whiny Southern accent carry across the cafe. _Of course_ it was _Jefferson._  Who else would start an argument in a coffee shop? From his vantage point he couldn't tell anything about the other man, but obviously, it was someone like him who also loved to cause scenes. 

He stood to see the man better and was shocked to see a much shorter man. The man glared up at Jefferson, looking like a cat ready to fight. Luckily, John knew this other guy was safe from Jefferson's punches; the man couldn't fight a baby chihuahua. 

"THIS. IS.  _AMERICA_. WE SPEAK ENGLISH IN AMERICA!" Jefferson yelled and John rolled his eyes. Yeah, he was a part of Tomorrow's Revolutionaries, but he'd never really fit in with the rest. MMoney made a big difference. He did it to piss off his parents more than anything.

"No, we don't. We have no official language in this country because no one who settled America spoke English. Your ancestors didn't, the Germans and Italians and Russians and Chinese and Japanese sure didn't. Most of us are required to conform and learn to speak English because no one wants to learn every single language spoken in the US. I will speak whatever language I wish, whenever and with whomever I choose. A rich, Southern, pretentious daddy's boy is sure as hell not going to tell me what to do. You can barely articulate your point, having no other argument than "This is America, we speak English", so you have put your foot in your mouth, an amazing feat since your head is in your ass." The smaller man smirked when Jefferson stuttered, at a loss for a comeback to that. Madison, who stood behind Jefferson as he'd argued, pulled him away to save him from furthering his embarrassment. As he walked away, John heard "bastard, orphan, immigrant, whoreson". He prickled at his words, but was glad that the other man hadn't heard Jefferson.

The guy was awarded with applause, making him duck his head in embarrassment. John moved to apologize for Jefferson, since he knew that Jefferson would never do it himself. He leaned in to tap the man's shoulder to gain his attention.

"Hey, I happened to catch the tail end of your argument and I wanted to apologize for Jefferson. We're not friends, but we run in the same group together. He's...different." He turned to look at John and that cheesy line "they took my breath away" suddenly make sense. He had dark eyes that were so soft and hopeful, but his body was ready to leave. He knew that look. That was the look of too long on your own and having to take care of yourself. 

"Oh," was all that he said. Confusion rippled through John. Had he thought they were friends? Or was he expecting another fight?

"Oh!" He said again, as if suddenly remembering something. "Shit, sorry. I just-- I was surprised is all. I'm Alexander Hamilton. Alex. And I saw you on the train with the girl from the corner store, and I just never expected to see you ever again. That's all." The girl from the corner store? 

"You met Peggy?" How had that happened? Pure chance, probably the same way he ended up on Laf and Herc's corner. John knew life had a way of making things happening at the right times.

"Yeah! About a week ago, and she--" Without thinking, John corrected him.

"They." Alex paused, breathing in slightly.

"They're nonbinary?" He noticed Alex's immediate change in pronouns, hoping that maybe he wouldn't be an awful person.

"Yup," was his cold answer. His body readied for a fight, just in case.

"Oh, okay, cool. They said that I should just wait for the next performance, that I'll know it when I see it. But I wanted to meet you-uh, the group that is." Alex's cheeks coloured slightly, and John smiled gently. They had someone that actually liked what they did. His stuttering made John's heart clench. He wanted to listen to this small foreign man who fought six-foot tall men in coffee shops.

"I'm John Laurens," he said, the words spilling from his mouth quickly. Alex flashed a smile and John felt like a girl who swooned in those silly movies.

"It's nice to meet you, John. And I want to stay and talk, but I have to get back to writing. I guess I'll see you around?" It was a question, like they'd never see each other again. And in New York, that might happen. John watched as Alex fumbled with his coffee, hurrying outside. Then he stood outside for a few minutes before hurrying on to wherever he lived.

As John made his way back to his seat, he knew he would never be satisfied until he knew all there was to know about Alexander Hamilton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: i found a sad idea


	5. Dear Laurens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS NOT SAD I PROMISE

Alex's essays finally got published, allowing him more money to spend. The first order of business was food. Lots and lots of ramen. A few other things that wouldn't spoil if he forgot to eat a few days in a row. Then more clothes because  _New York was fucking cold_. After all his shopping, Alex was exhausted. But he had more papers to write. A trip to Peggy's corner store was in order. And if he happened to see them, he would casually give Peggy his number to give to John, then... Well that would just be a bonus, right? Since meeting John, his life had gotten better. He'd been paid, even his days seemed brighter. Alex assumed life stopped fucking him because that was John's job now.

Peggy was working the counter when he finally made his way into the store. They quirked an eyebrow, a small smile glancing across their face, before being replaced by a smirk.

"Can I help you?" they said, smirk evident in their voice.

"Uh, yeah, actually." Alex moved to buy several energy drinks and those nasty chilled coffees. They tasted great together, he told himself; he had deadlines to meet.

"You got a project or something?" Peggy asked as they rang up his items. Alex shook his head but stopped halfway through. Technically, they were projects.

"I have writing deadlines to meet," he shrugged. No big deal.

"Man, you gotta be non-stop to need all this," they remarked, bagging it for him. "Is that all you need, peach fuzz?" Their tone seemed mean, but their eyes were gentle. Suddenly, Alex's mouth was dry and his words were missing.

"Yeah, actually... I met John the other day and I wanted to give him my number then but I didn't because of reasons and you're the only one I know connected to him so I thought if I gave it to you, you would give it to him and then we could text, so here." After taking a deep breath, having used only one to explain what else he needed, Alex shoved a piece of paper at them and quickly left.

If he'd have stayed, he'd have heard Peggy laugh at this usually eloquent man who suddenly turned into a nervous boy who could barely grow peach fuzz, get flustered about asking John out. He'd have seen Peggy whip out their phone and text John Alex's number. What he would have missed was John's ecstatic response.

Instead, he missed it all. He was hurrying home to write until he forgot everything. He had just opened his door when his phone buzzed. His heart dropped in excitement. There was only one person in the entire world who had his phone number. _John Laurens_. He whipped his phone out, a grin unable to leave his face.

 **From Unknown Number  
** _So you said you wanted to meet the group, right?_


	6. Fools Who Run Their Mouths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Squad comes together and finally meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suspend your disbelief and pretend all the songs arent working together, because I combined them to get the full, quick characterization.
> 
> Songs used: Alexander Hamilton; Aaron Burr, sir; My Shot; Schuyler Sisters(Siblings); Right Hand Man; Dear Theodosia; What'd I Miss; Say No To This; Take a Break.

John grinned as Alex replied before turning to Lafayette.

“I found someone who might be interested in the crew,” he said, his grin splitting his face. Lafayette was briefly blinded by the wattage before smiling as well.

“ _Oui_? Who is it?”

“Do you remember that guy Alex that I told you about? The one that argued with Jefferson?”

“ _C’est magnifique!_ I will be very ‘appy to meet ‘im,” they said, their smiling growing. “When will we make the acquaintance of the _petit lion_?”

“I’m not sure, soon.”

“What’s soon?” Hercules asked, popping his head in the doorway.

“Alex is coming!” Confusion flashed across his face as Lafayette quickly blurted John’s news. He felt such fondness for the Frenchie that he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed.

“That little guy who fought Jefferson?”

“Yeah, him. He apparently gave Peggy his number, which they say was a hilarious story and they wish they’d caught it on their phone. So I invited him to the Warehouse, to meet us. He says he saw our train performance and thought it was brilliant.” Lafayette snorted delicately.

“ _Non_ , ‘e thought you were cute, John. That’s the only reason ‘e wants to meet us. Because of you.” John rolled his eyes, but he blushed slightly.

“We need to tell Washington. I have a really cool idea of how to introduce him to all of us.”

* * *

 John told Alex to meet him at the coffee shop where they first met; it was hard to get to the Warehouse without a guide.

“Alex!” John called, jogging over. It was impossible to keep the smile off of his face as Alex turned around. He was wearing an oversized Harvard sweatshirt, dark jeans and converse, a look John _loved_. (On anyone, he told himself, not just Alex.)

He was caught off guard by Alex’s smile. It was bright and it was _stunning_. John came to a stop in front of him, unable to formulate words other than, “Hi”.

“It’s good to see your face,” Alex said, a smirk in his voice, his eyes dark. Blinking to regain his composure, John smiled back.

“Ready?” He nudged Alex’s shoulder, unable to resist touching him. Alex nodded his consent heading in the direction that John pointed. They walked side-by-side, talking animatedly, a smile on both their faces as they made their way downtown. John almost had a heart attack on the way there.

Alex, busy bitching about Republicans, forgot to look both ways when crossing the road and almost got hit by a taxi.

“Alex!” John barely grabbed him by the hand, yanking him back to the safety of the sidewalk. Horns and angry shouts followed, but he _had_ to make sure this idiot was okay.

“Are you okay?! You need to pay attention!” While he fretted over Alex, he forgot he was holding Alex’s hand. When Alex noticed it, he blushed. He secretly liked the affection, but he would never tell John that. _Ever_.

“I know, I’m fine! Can we just go and forget that almost happened?” He was embarrassed by his lack of inattention. He was glad John had caught him. Instead of pestering him with questions and concerns, John nodded and the two set off again.

This time, they were hand-in-hand.

* * *

It was deceptively quiet when John arrived at the Warehouse though he knew why. It was sort of like get-to-know-you games, but cooler. With a “Wait here” command to Alex, John left to collect the crew. He was buzzing with excitement and could barely contain nervous and excited giggles.

“Alright, you guys ready?” he asked, finally reaching the excited group.

“As always, _mon ami_ ,” Laf said, their dark eyes glittering.

They filed out, looking like they were just going about doing their own thing. Alex stood in the middle, looking confused and thrilled.

“Yo, yo yo yo yo, what time is it?!” John started, his eyes looking to Alex, who jumped slightly; the expression morphed into one of childish fascination.

“Showtime!” The crew yelled back.

“Showtime, showtime! I’m John Laurens in the place to be, two pints of Sam Adams, but I’m workin’ on three! Hah, those Red Coats don’t want it with me, ‘cuz I will pop chick-a-pop these cops till I’m free! But we’ll never be truly free until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me. You and I, do or die. Have another—,”

“Shot!” He stepped towards Alex as Lafayette stepped up.

“Ah, _oui, oui, mon ami, je m’applle_ Lafayette, the Lancelot of the Revolutionary set. I came from afar just to say “ _Bonsoir_ ”. Tell the King, “ _Casse-toi_ ”. Who’s the best? _C’est moi_! I dream of life without the hierarchy. The unrest in the streets will lead to ‘onarchy… ‘onarchy, ‘ow you say, ‘ow you say, oh! Anarchy! When I dance, I make the other side panicky with my—”

“Shot!” Everyone shouted as Laf faded into the group again. Hercules stepped forward.

“Brrah, brrah! I am Hercules Mulligan, up in it, lovin’ it, yes I heard ya mother said: “Come again!”

“Ayyy!” Laf and Peggy shouted, dissolving into giggles.

“Yo, I’m a tailor’s apprentice, and I got y’all knuckleheads in loco parentis. I’m joinin’ the rebellion ‘cuz I know it’s my chance to socially advance instead of sewin’ some pants! I’m gonna take a—“

“Shot!” In Alex’s ear, John whispered, “Don’t let him fool you. He loves sewing. That’s just his favourite line to use on guys.” Alex giggled, still enthralled with the goings-on. The door opened and everyone turned and John laughed.

“Well if it isn’t the prodigy of Princeton College! Aaron Burr, give us a verse, drop some knowledge!”

“You spit, I’m a sit, we’ll see where we land,” he smirked. His voice was rich and creamy and Alex loved it. Two girls moved forward with Peggy and all work intense smirks.

“Angelica!”

“Eliza!”

“And Peggy,” they laughed, pushing through their two sisters.

“The Schuyler siblings,” a girl in the back sang, a smile on her face.

“There’s nothing rich folks love more than going downtown and slumming it with the poor,” Burr teased lightly, a smile on his face.

“Burr you disgust me,” Angelica said.

“Ah, so you’ve discussed me!” There was laughter all around and Alex felt his heart warm. “I’m a trust fund baby, you can trust me,” he winked, causing even Alex to laugh at his flirting.

“My name’s Miss Maria Reynolds and I’ll walk into your life saying, “I know you are a man of honour…” and then you’ll just beg me to stay…” She dragged out the word, almost sounding like soul and Alex’s heart dropped at the sound and the deadly look in her eye. She was terrifyingly beautiful.

A young boy moved forward and everyone softened. You could feel the affection. Eliza was beatboxing for him while he stood beside her anxiously.

“My name is Philip… I am a poet. I wrote this poem just to show it. And I…just turned nine. You can write rhymes, but you can’t write mine!”

“What!”

“I practice French and play piano with Lafayette. I have a sister but I want a little brother! My daddy’s trying to run American’s bank, un deux trois quatre cinq! I outshine the morning sun, and I’ll blow you all away,” he declared, a giant grin on his face. Everyone cheered for Philip who ran to hide in Eliza’s shirt.

Washington moved forward and Aaron’s eyes lit up.

“Here comes the General,” the crew yelled, laughter bubbling into their rhymes.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Aaron started, his voice loud and boastful.

“Here comes the General!”

The moment you’ve been waiting for!”

“Here comes the General!”

“The pride of Mount Vernon…”

“Here comes the general!”

There was a dramatic pause before Aaron yelled, “George Washington!” as he jumped into the middle of the open space.

“We are outgunned, outmanned, outnumbered, out planned! We gotta make an all-out stand!” He paused, breathing in before looking at Alex.

“Check it—Can I be real a second? For just a millisecond? Let down my guard and tell the people how I feel a second? Now I’m the model of a modern major general, the venerated Virginian veteran whose men are all lining up, to put me up on a pedestal, writin’ letters to relatives, embellishin’ my elegance and eloquence. But the elephant is in the room, the truth is in your face when ya hear the British bass go—”

“BOOM!” There was the boom of a loud bass and the energy increased in the room. Then they all looked at Alex. His face turned red as Aaron strode over.

“The crew wants to know your name! What’s your name, man?”

“Alexander Hamilton. My name is Alexander Hamilton. And there’s a million things I haven’t done, but just you wait…” He was quiet, still unsure. Then he spoke before he lost all of his courage completely. “I am not throwing away my shot! I am not throwing away my shot! Hey yo, I’m just like my country, I’m young, scrappy and hungry and I am not throwing away my shot! I’m a get a scholarship to King’s College, I probably shouldn’t brag but dag I amaze and astonish. I gotta holler just to be heard, with every word I drop knowledge!” The group laughed and Alex barreled on.

“My power of speech, unimpeachable. Only nineteen, but my mind is older. These New York City streets get colder, I shoulder every burden, every disadvantage, I have learned to manage, I walk these streets famished. Damn, it’s getting dark so let me spell out my name: I am the A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R! What the odds the gods would put us all in one spot, poppin’ a squat on conventional wisdom, like it or not, a bunch of revolutionary manumission abolitionists? Give me a position, show me where the ammunition is!” Suddenly he realized how quiet it was around him and he became embarrassed, looking down.

“Oh, am I talkin’ too loud? Sometimes I get over excited, shoot off at the mouth. I never had a group of friends before, I promise that I’ll make y’all proud…” He trailed off but looked up to see John’s eyes burning proudly into his.

“Let’s get this guy in front of a crowd!” There were cheers all around as everyone finished and they came over to introduce themselves.

It was then that Jefferson walked in, and looking confused, said “So what did I miss?” as the door slammed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute, yes? Or just annoying and overdone? Tell me what you think, here or on my tumblr at young-scrappy-and-gay.tumblr.com!


	7. 32,000 Dancers in New York Harbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: DUE TO CONTINUITY PROBLEMS I HAVE HAD TO EDIT THE STORY. FOR THIS CHAPTER TO MAKE SENSE, PLEASE GO BACK AND REREAD 1-6.
> 
> it really is important, i added details after talking through this chapter with someone and realized i was missing stuff. and no one likes plot holes. 
> 
> THANK YOU

**Weeks passed** and Alex spent more time at the Warehouse. He didn't dance, but he sat and worked while they practiced. (Alex would never tell them that he had secretly been practicing at home). He chatted with Eliza and Maria, his eyes following John as his fingers flew across the keyboard. Eliza and Maria shared a look and rolled their eyes, smiling. All around Alex there was work being done. John told him that they were leading up to a really big project that would make them take off.

"It's gonna be big, man, I can't wait until you see all of it," John said during one of the breaks. He leaned on the stone steps against Hamilton, chugging water and wiping sweat from his face. His smile was contagious and soon Alex felt one infecting his entire body.

"I'm excited to see it," he replied blandly, even was he wrote poems and sonnets about John in his head. 

As they were all returning to practice a petite black girl ran in, panting hard.

"Sybil?! What's up!?" Washington ran over and Alex moved forward to check on her as well before catching himself. Not his family. Not his responsibility to care.

"The Red Coats are coming. They--" she gasped for breath. "The Red Coats are coming and they want to battle. They say you're on their turf."

"Bullshit!" Hercules yelled from the other side of the room. "We've had this warehouse for years!"

"It was theirs. They loaned it to us when we were still in league with them. Then we split over artistic--"

"Racial," Laf interjected a sneer on their face. 

" _Artistic_ differences," Washington finished after Laf's interjection. "I guess they decided that our agreement wasn't enough anymore."

There was some heated discussion before they all decided the best way was to fight back.

While they were planning, there was a loud banging at the door. Washington moved to open it, allowing in three white guys wearing red jackets.

"Washington," the one in the front said. His voice was posh; obviously not from the streets like the rest of them.

"Cornwallis, Seabury, Lee. Nice to see you again." Washington's face was impassive as he greeted the three men, who Alex thought were the Red Coats. John stood beside Alex, his fists clenched by his sides. Alex itched to take one of them.

"We've come to take back what is rightfully ours."

"The King gave it us to use as we wanted. And we wanted our own crew. We pay rent. He doesn't."

"The King doesn't like what 

you’ve been doing. He would prefer you to come back. He says it’s a direct violation of the code crew.”

“Code crew also says that if a part of the crew feels they’re not being treated fairly, that they’re allowed to split. And we did.”

“You did so under deception!” Cornwallis said, fury in his voice.

“Not my fault he couldn’t see it,” Washington said and Cornwallis turned a pretty shade of red. “We’re not going back, Cornwallis, and you can tell him this is why: We’re done being a part of a racist group that steals our culture and then denies us the chance to use it. We left because you wouldn’t allow us the chance to make your crew better by using us and all we are.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Cornwallis hissed, his beady eyes narrowing.

“And you are leaving, you _fils de pute_.” The words spilled from Alex. _Oops_. Before Alex could think, he spit at Cornwallis and his lackeys. Obviously affronted, Cornwallis stood stoically. As they were forced to leave, Lee threw a scathing remark towards Alex that made Alex still. John turned around, anger flashing in his eyes before he swung at Lee, the sound of flesh connecting with his fist satisfying the anger that simmered under his skin. Washington snapped with anger, forcing Cornwallis, Seabury and the whining Lee out the door. As soon as the Red Coats were out, a tense silence fell over the Warehouse. Alex stood shell-shocked while Laurens shook out his hand. Alex was the first to move, grabbing his bag and mumbling a half-formed excuse and running out. John made to follow, but Washington grabbed his shoulder.

“Not so fast, kid. You need to tell me what just happened.”

“Lee called Alex a bastard whoreson.”

“But why did the _petite lion_ react so badly?”

“That’s not my place to tell, Laf. You’ll have to get him to tell you. But I really need to go talk to him right now, okay? I’ll explain more later.” With that, John rushed out of the Warehouse, looking down the street. He hoped that he knew exactly where Alex was going.  _Please let him be okay..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok wow. the ideas i have for this fic greatly outnumber my motivations. im heading into the final month of school and im barely sleeping as it is, so my fics have to take a back burner. ill still be writing, but idk how often itll be
> 
> ALSO follow my sideblog for my hamilfics at writingatnight--runningoutoftime


	8. Let's Get This Guy In Front of a Crowd!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two months later, here's a 1000+ chapter of pure gay!

**J** **ohn ran**  into an empty coffee shop about four blocks from the Warehouse, and he saw Alex staring at his feet, bag clutched in a death grip against him. He made his way to the smaller man, sitting down next to him.

“Alex?” No response. “Alex…” Again, no response, but John didn’t know how well he would respond to touch (because Lord knows he doesn’t react well when he’s like this).

“Alex, please talk to me… Are you okay?” After another non-response, John sighed and settled down next to him and waited.

The waiting turned into half an hour and one cup of coffee. John glanced over at Alex and saw tears running down his face. He turned so he could face Alex a little more directly. Then, gently, he placed his hand on Alex’s arm, rubbing his thumb across it. Alex slowly blinked and looked at John, a startled look in his eyes.

“John? How long have you been here?” Alex slowly moved, stretching slightly and setting his bag down beside them.

"Not long," The lie was easy for John. He was more worried for Alex; concern furrowed his brow as his eyes searched Alex’s face. "Alex, why did you run?"

"What else am I supposed to do after that?" They paused, John bringing his lukewarm coffee to his mouth, shuddering as he takes a small sip.

"Do you want to talk about it?" John’s voice was gentle as he looked at Alex, who shook his head, moving to stand.

“We should probably get back…” He looked at his hands when John pushed himself off the couch.

“Well, then let’s get some better coffee before we leave. I’ll pay.” The two walked towards the counter, laughing slightly when they remembered how they met. They leaned towards each other, reminiscing. Coffee was the last thing on their minds.

* * *

 

They took the long way back to the Warehouse, not wanting to confront everyone just yet. On the way, they stopped constantly to watch other dancers. Alex had already finished his coffee, so his hands were free when a dancer invited him to dance with her.John was under the impression Alex didn’t know how to dance; he was proven wrong, by a large margin, when Alex just jumped into it. His style has quick, sharp, angry. But if John could help him refine it, push him into a better form… he could be an amazing dancer for the crew. Whipping out his phone, John quickly flipped on his video.

The dance ended quicker than John really wanted, but he’d gotten the footage he needed. Alex shook hands with the dancer, thanking her for the chance to dance with her. He made his way over, blushing as he made eye contact with John.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” he said in an incredulous voice.

“I started the moment I left the Warehouse that first day. I fell in love…” There was a glance at John before Alex looked away quickly. “With the dance style, and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” John snatched his hand, tugging him quickly towards the Warehouse. “We need a dancer like you, ya know! Man, this’ll be great!” As they ran, John talked a mile a minute about his ideas; for once, Alex didn’t say a word.

Both of them had wide smiles on their faces when they burst into the Warehouse. Everyone stopped and turned to look at them, going on about their business.

“Alright, go start with the company dancers. Laf’s with them right now, they’ll catch you up.” John squeezed his hand before returning to his art station. Alex made his way back to the dance studio the company dancers were in, his head swimming with all that had happened.  _ John had held my hand again _ . That thought repeated and swirled around his head as he learned the moves. He was lost in thought and he hadn’t noticed Laf had ended the session, saying they needed a break from the terribleness that is the company (followed by a wink). Laughter bounced around the room as Alex left, looking for Eliza.

“Knock, knock?” She turned, looking up from her soundboard.

“Hey! Come on in.” Her hand patted the stool next to her, even as she turned back to her board. “What’s up, Alex?” The headphones only covered one ear, and even though Eliza looked totally absorbed by her work, she was listening as well.

“John wants me to join the crew.” Eliza didn’t miss a beat.

“And you don’t want to join because you’ll be in John’s space and he could realize that you’re a horrible person undeserving of his love.” She side-eyed him, a “really?” look on her face. “Alex, honey, that’s never going to happen. You’re a great person, albeit with asshole-ish tendencies. John’s the same, though. He used to fight all the time.” There was a heavy pause. “He used to be real bad…”

“What do you mean ‘ _ real bad _ ’?” he inquired, a frown settling onto his face.

“Listen, it’s not my story, okay? Let John tell you. Now, I need to get this set done for a downtown show next week. Out,” she said as she stood, shooing Alex from her space. She shut the door, her sign in place. ‘ _ You want music? Leave me alone. _ ’

Alex itched to know why John used to be “real bad”, but he had watched enough rom-coms to know that the moment he did, John would find out and be upset and it just wasn’t worth it. Although he hated waiting for it, he would. He would wait for John.

While he was waiting for John, he holed himself up in an empty studio room to practice his moves. The company had had a few weeks; Alex had one. Three hours saw little improvement. Four and a half hours saw almost perfection. Six hours after starting, Alex swore he had his part down to almost perfection.

Almost perfection was exhausting. Alex walked towards John’s space going to open the door, only to find it locked. Knowing John had his headphones at full volume, Alex curled up outside the door, off to the side, to wait. The great thing about the Warehouse is that they have things necessary for those who need to stay, meaning pillows and blankets. Alex had commandeered the entire hall’s supply and was currently asleep in a small nest of pillows and blankets. Two hours after Alex had fallen asleep, John came out, rubbing his eyes. He looked down and smiled at Alex. Two months after meeting Alex, John knew he was fucked; he was in love with Alex.

Alex was passed out, meaning John could easily pick him up and lay him on the full pallet in his studio. He brought the blankets and pillows into the studio as well, making sure Alex was comfortable. With thoughts of Alex swimming in his head, John curled up under his own blanket, falling asleep to the lullaby of what could be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay holy shit. i opened this to see if maybe i could get an extra twenty words out, instead ended up writing 900+ words w more material for the next chapter


	9. Guess What!

I'm back! College means I'm taking a breaking class for both culture and religion interests, so I'm learning a lot, and I also understand more about breaking culture, the clothes, the moves, and the art of both breaking and graffiti.

I'm not only continuing, I'm also revamping the story.

Here's how it'll work: every time I update an old chapter, I'll post a new one with some basic info on what's been changed. After 24 hours (or when I get a chance) I'll delete the newly added chapter with the info and then upload a new one in the same manner once the next chapter is revamped. This'll take a while. I'm not just editing. I'm rewriting my (shitty) original story in a whole new light with a whole new feel to it.

Sit back, relax, be patient, and enjoy the story! 


End file.
